


just you for my own

by troubleinateacup



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AIWFCILA, All I Want For Christmas Is Love Actually, Christmas, Kid Fic, hi-5!au, single dad!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubleinateacup/pseuds/troubleinateacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis had thought he was well-prepared for his son’s inevitable obsessions and idols. He’d secretly prayed they would centre on football, but musicians were just as acceptable. Musicians he could enjoy too. At least these ones were attractive. It was of small matter that the band was called Hi-5, and the average age of their fans was six years old.</p>
<p>Or, the one where Harry is the Mick Jagger of children’s after school entertainment and Louis may or may not have a crush on his son’s favourite member of Hi-5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just you for my own

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically the result of two very different fic bunnies having some very fun times in my head and then forcing me to write a weird combination of kid-fic and Harry-Styles-in-Hi5-fic (because can you even imagine?!). It is wholly fluffy and cliched and Christmassy and really just a chance to stretch my old writing muscles. Because it’s been a long time. 
> 
> Special thanks go to the lovely Ashleigh and Bronte, for indulging this obsession of mine that should absolutely not have happened, and for not laughing too much when I first put the prompt to them. 
> 
> Also, Giselle over at keepcalmandreadfic gets cookies for creating All I Want For Christmas Is Love Actually and her absolutely delightful cover of that Mariah song that may have partially/totally inspired this fic. Also, to whoever made that vine of Harry from WWA tour that started all of this, I blame you entirely. 
> 
> The title is inspired from, imaginatively, Mariah’s All I Want For Christmas Is You. 
> 
> Merry Christmas and much love.

_\--_

_Christmas, my child, is love in action. Every time we love, every time we give, it’s Christmas.  – Dale Evans_

_\--_

It isn’t even nine in the morning and Louis is sweating. That shouldn’t be legal in civilised society. Not unless it also involved a bed and a partner and a lazy Saturday with no prospect of work. Only a few years ago, Louis would have thought that merely being awake before 9am should be outlawed too. Then again, only a few years ago he was a free man.

Louis drags the back of his hand across his forehead, sweeping away the beads of frozen sweat stuck on loose hairs as he half-jogs along the icy road, already overheating under his thick woollen coat without further exertion. His feet slip over the cobblestones. His shoes really _aren’t_ suited for this kind of cross-country nonsense. He nearly stacks it again. Shit. He’d better prepare himself for the likely occurrence of resting a sprained ankle over Christmas. Or worse, he thinks, _Luke_ resting a sprained ankle over Christmas. Maybe he should reconsider the jogging.

He slows his pace to a slightly more comfortable walk, heat still radiating from every inch of exposed skin on his face and neck. His guide however doesn’t get the memo, and as Louis catches his breath, his right arm is nearly pulled clean out of its socket by the child attached to it. When did kids get so strong? About one step ahead of him, Luke hasn’t broken his sprint. His head is turned downwards against the breeze, faint brown hair falling over his face as his boots dig into the powdery snow, holding fast while he drags the dead weight behind him.

“Dad, come _on_!” He groans, easily hitting the long-suffering-parental-exasperation tone Louis hadn’t expected until well into his teen years. Louis huffs out a breath and slides his phones from his coat pocket. 8:57.Shit. They’regoing to be late.

The entry to 3 Mills Studios isn’t far up ahead. Louis can pick it easily by the other tired and worn-looking souls who could only be fellow child-minders wandering about the doors, smoking and chatting and revelling in their brief, childless bliss. They don’t look sweaty and flushed at all. Louis doubts any of them have their own bodily fluids used as impromptu hair gel either. Inwardly, he groans. If they ran now, they could make it. Luke hadn’t shut up about today’s filming from the moment Louis mentioned it three days ago. It was meant to be an early Christmas present. His favourite band was filming a Christmas special, in London, during school holidays. They had front row tickets. It was perfect. Luke was so excited. Louis starts to jog again.

It just so happened that Louis had also become partial as Luke’s interest grew. He had thought he was well-prepared for his son’s inevitable obsessions and idols, secretly praying they would centre around football (the fact that Luke’s bedroom just _happened_ to be painted in Doncaster Rovers’ colours was a coincidence), but musicians were just as acceptable. At least these ones were attractive.

It was of small matter that the band in question was called Hi-5, and the average age of their fans was at about six years old. If anyone asked, Louis blamed Charlie’s mother for the obsession. Nic had suggested them over coffee once, promising bearable music, a vaguely educational show, and presenters that were easy enough on the eyes. And for once, she was right. Luke loved the music, and Louis loved Harry.

Harry Styles, or Curly Harry, as was his nickname on the show. Each of the Hi-5ers specialised in teaching primary schoolers basic maths or logic or other skills for use in later life. Harry taught the most important segment; rhythm and music. He must have been Mick Jagger in another life, or at least an illegitimate child of his. For six glorious minutes each episode, he would toss back his wild rockstar curls, and sing along to his guitar in a deliciously gravelly voice that sent the blood in anyone aged over twenty rushing downwards. After his song, he would look into the distance for a moment, and then gaze directly into the camera with the biggest fucking _smirk_ his razor sharp jaw could contain and deliver the message of the episode.  

There was no denying it, Harry was the fanservice. Parents needed entertainment too. Why else would he spend each episode parading around in those skinny jeans and half-buttoned shirts, having eye sex with the camera whenever he was in the background during a close-up on one of his bandmates? (Bandmates? Teammates? Backup singers?). He was the reason any half-decent parent had to learn how to subtly adjust a semi while their kid sang along to songs about promoting caring for the environment or something next to them. (Louis never really paid attention to the Song of the Week. It was always straight after Harry’s segment.

Louis watched it for Luke. Mostly. But when the chance arose to be part of the four-day filming of the Christmas special, Louis was the first of the school mums to grab tickets.

By some sort of Christmas miracle, they reach 3 Mills as the last of the other children are shepherded into the studio with no injury to speak of. Luke races ahead, dropping Louis’ hand and nearly disappearing between into the sea of miniaturised snow jackets. Louis lunges after him, grabbing his wrist and pulling snatching him back from the crowd, ignoring Luke’s yelps. Sod that, he is notlosing his kid in here. So he ignores Luke’s grumbles and joins the mob bursting into Studio A.

A manicured finger is pressed to his chest. Louis glances up to find it belongs to a girl with _Usher_ written on her pink Hi-5 nametag.

“Sorry sir, no parents allowed in the recording hall.” She says this with a smile between chews at her bubblegum, probably revelling in the way his face falls. (Teenagers love to ruin fun, they thrive on it. God help Louis when Luke becomes one.)

Don’t the parents watch the recording too? Louis had never seen an adult in the show, of course (except for the Hi-5ers), but he’d always assumed they were hidden in the shadows at the back. Just in case there’s some sort of disaster, or accident. So Louis tells her this, and she still shakes her head.  

What bullshit is this? The parents are as much the Hi-5 fans as the kids!

He briefly considers faking some sort of separation anxiety on Luke’s part. Or illness. Or some impediment which would force Louis to stand with him and see Harry and the others himself. Luke would probably kill him out of embarrassment of course, but Louis would take it.

But Luke merely nods understandingly and slips himself from Louis’ grasp.

“Oh, okay then. Bye Dad.” And with that, he shrugs off his snow coat, hands it calmly to Louis, and follows his kind into the studio without so much as a backwards glance. For several moments, Louis just gapes after him. _Usher_ watches the exchange and points over her shoulder with a tinny giggle.

“You can wait in the cafeteria, sir.” Louis shoots a glare at her, trying not to dwell on the feeling of cold, bitter rejection, and follows the pilgrimage of parents – none of whom seemed nearly as disappointed as he was about this – down the hallway.

The least they could do then would be to provide free alcohol.

At the end of the hallway is a large, white-walled room with three long rows of cafeteria tables. There are a few others here, each seated alone around the room, consumed by their phones. He wondered where the rest of the parents got to. Maybe he should have brought a book, or even some work to do. He hadn’t planned on two hours alone in a cafeteria with no free alcohol and no Luke. What did he do with his free time before? He can’t remember. Single parenthood put an end to the concept. So Louis sighs and resignedly goes to find himself and Luke’s jacket a table when he hears his name called from down the hallway. He turns and spots a familiar figure.

“It _is_ you!” The figure in a grey bespoke trenchcoat glows like he’d just been teleported into the studio rather than walking the half mile from the tube like the rest of them. Though it is Liam Payne after all, and even if he had walked, he’d probably still look just as cheery.

Liam Payne. Uncle and Louis’ favourite babysitter to Luke’s mate, Charlie. Childless, yet a very crucial benefactor to Charlie’s impressive collection of Hot Wheels, Liam turned out to have good heart and a wicked streak that indulged some of Louis’ antics that the other school mums didn’t approve of. He was the best of the school mums, really. Louis grins and accepts Liam’s opened arms.

“Didn’t expect ya to be here, mate.” He throws an arm over Liam’s shoulders and leads him into the cafeteria, “Wouldn’t have pegged ya for a Hi-5 fan.”

“Nic’s got the flu.” Liam explains, “So I took the day off to help out.” Of course he did. He probably brought his sister flowers and chicken soup when he picked up Charlie. In another life, Louis might have kept Liam for himself.

“So I won’t be relegated to frozen cafeterias and sobriety alone these next few days then?” Liam just laughs and pats him on the shoulder.

“We’ll see.”

\--

After ninety minutes, they’re summoned back to studio A by a cool voice over the PA system. And Louis finds himself in exactly the spot he’d wanted to be, front row, cuddled up next to a great giant teddy bear holding a gift box.

The studio is in utter chaos. Children with flailing limbs and enormous lungs bounce about the room. Adults twice their size hopscotch around them, trying not to tread on any free fingers or toes. There are the occasional screams of delight or agony, Louis isn’t quite sure which for some. Squealing, yelling, glitter, kids everywhere. It’s like someone has combined the last day of school with Christmas morning, and given them all sugar too.

Luke is nowhere to be seen.

A sense of dread makes its home in the pit of Louis’ stomach. His eyes search the hall again, sweeping from one end of the stage to the other. Already some of the other parents are filing orderly out the door with their kids. Shit. Louis pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. _Calm down. Luke can’t have gone far. They’ve got tight security here. He can’t have been taken._ _He’s okay._

Louis edges around the stage again. His eyes dart to the door, the wings, the darkest corners where Luke might have even fallen asleep. Nothing. There are only a handful of people left in here now. The studio has fallen into a ringing, eerie silence. But Louis is the only one without a kid.

Fuck. Fucking shit _._ He’s lost Luke. He’s lost the kid. Oh God, he’s an awful parent. What if Luke wandered off and hurt himself? There’s plenty of glass and expensive camera equipment around for him to do so. What if fell off the back of the stage? The image flashes into his mind. Louis runs a hand through his hair. It comes back greasy. He grits his teeth and ignores it. Calm down.

“Louis, are you okay?” Liam has materialised before him. Charlie’s attached to his leg, his blond ringlets peeking out from under his uncle’s coat. A tablespoon of lead drips down Louis’ throat at the sight of the child. He opens his mouth to reply, to joke about his terrible parenting skills, not to worry he’s got it under control, but only something between a sob and a moan comes out. Liam understands anyway, and rubs Louis’ shoulder.

“Okay, Louis. I’m gonna go and talk to that security guy over there, see if we can get some help.” He moves to do so, “I’m sure he won’t have gone far.” Liam tries to reassure him with warm smile. If he wasn’t so perpetually happy, Louis might have felt better.  So he stays by the stage, presses his hands together against his lips and nose. He shuts his eyes and exhales again in them. He needs to breathe. Breathing is meant to help, right? That’s what his mum says. In, out. In, out.

So he doesn’t notice the other person approach until he opens his eyes and finds himself staring up into a pair of vaguely familiar intense green eyes, peering out from under a green headscarf.

Harry Styles.

In person, it turns out he looks like a cross between a rocker and a superhero. He’s still wearing his costume from the filming, a pair of black jeans (so tight that had Louis been functioning properly, he’d stop to wonder how he actually managed to get into them) pulled over a pair of glittery heeled boots, and a brilliant red button down patterned with candy canes. As always, the top two buttons are undone. Louis hadn’t realised that in person, the undone buttons showed off much more of Harry’s bare chest than the camera would let on. And in person, it turns out Harry Styles is much taller, and much leaner, and even more gorgeous than Louis imagined.

Well. Fuck.

Louis does a quick recount of what he looked like leaving the house this morning. He’d washed and styled his hair into a quiff (partly the reason for their lateness), only the unexpected half mile jog had undone all of this and left half the strands hanging over his face while the other half matted to his temples. And after he’d been rejected from the filming and run into Liam, he hadn’t thought to fix it. And all this was ignoring having half of Luke’s breakfast down his T-shirt, while he stood next to the stage without a kid, about three seconds away from a breakdown.

Breathing isn’t really helping right now. Harry notices.

“Hey. Heyheyhey.” Harry lifts his arms and presses a hand to each of Louis’ biceps, moving closer and leaning down to look him in the eye. Louis glances at one as Harry squeezes his arm gently. His heart skips a beat.

“Lost kid?” Harry asks, and he breathes a soft laugh as Louis nods, “It’s okay, it happens all the time.” Louis doesn’t believe it for a minute, but his mind clings onto the sound of Harry Styles’ laugh and Harry Styles’ hands on his arms.

“What’s your name?”

“Louis.” He manages to get out, reddening only slightly. He immediately curses himself. He lifts one hand from Louis and offers it to him,

 “I’m Harry. Curly Harry. Harry Styles.” Louis glances over the long fingers and clatter of metal around them. The very same ones the camera loved to close in on. Source of many an inappropriate thought in Luke’s presence. _Stop it_ _Tomlinson._ He heaves a breath to compose himself and takes Harry’s hand with the most charming smile he can manage, 

“I know. You’re our favourite.” He watches Harry blink at him, and tries not to redden with further embarrassment and self-loathing. Liam returns with Charlie and news that building security are now searching for Luke.

Fuck. Luke. Louis runs a hand through his hair again.

Apparently, Liam says, there aren’t that many places he could get into to hide, so that’s reassuring. Louis mutely nods again. Harry’s hand is still pressed to his arm. Then, with an almost guilty tone, Liam apologises, saying he wishes he could stay to help but Charlie needs to be back at his mum’s.

Working on autopilot, Louis assures Liam that he will in fact, be okay. Liam makes him repeat after him “Luke is okay” before he goes.  He hears Harry promise that they’ll find him. Louis isn’t sure to whom that is directed to. And wordlessly, Harry’s hand drops to interlace with Louis’ and he leads him through the stage door.

“Come on,” he says, “we’ll look for him too.”

And they look _everywhere_. Harry attempts to cheer him up by turning it into an impromptu tour of the studio. He describes each room they visit with stories about the cast and crew. Like how the sound engineer Niall threw a particularly drunken wrap party in studio B last year, which is why they’re now in A. Or how the set decorator Zayn once drew some rather inappropriate caricatures of the Hi-5ers, without realising the producer was standing directly behind him.

But Harry’s hand never leaves Louis’. Louis tries not to dwell on the way it warms his skin.

It’s been seventeen minutes. This is the longest he’s ever lost Luke. Just ten in Tesco last year nearly gave him a heart attack. So Louis starts talking, just about the most random things, or he’ll go insane alone with his thoughts. And Harry listens.

“We watch the show together after school. Luke, he loves it, he practically drags me home to get there in time.”

“You watch it too?” Harry seems very amused by the thought. Louis wonders how much he usually interacts with the parents. Does he hold all of their hands?

“We all do, us parents. We get a kick out of you too.” Harry smirks at him, and Louis nearly dies. Then,

“Does Luke have a favourite episode?” He thinks back to all their afternoons seated on the family room floor in front of the telly, singing along, dancing along. Luke really got into anything, especially the songs with Harry in them. Louis was proud he chose him as his favourite.

“Yeah, the one about transport. Trains.” He points to Harry, “You sang inside a train. He made us build one out of cardboard afterwards.” Harry’s eyes light up. He leads him a room behind staircase, near the stage door they entered from. A room filled with the foam props from previous episodes. And sure enough, Luke sits in the driver’s seat of a bright orange steam train, fiddling around with the controls, and making “choo-choo” noises. Louis feels the air from his chest expel. He slumps against the doorframe and released Harry’s hand to press it over his aging heart. 

And then he dives into the train and nearly crushes his son to death. Luke complains at the interruption, but Louis refuses to let go. He feels the hint of tears in the corner of his eyes. This stupid kid. He loves him, he really does. He kisses Luke’s forehead and looks him in the eye and tells him to never go away again without telling anyone, that he has to hold his hand for the next year, and that he loves him. And he peppers more kisses into his son’s matted brown hair and cuddles him inside that stupid orange train. And he almost forgets about Harry.

Harry sits on a foam box next to the door, watching the two of them. Seated, leaning forward so his shirt hangs open to his navel, his smile nearly mirrors Louis’ in width. And those damn green eyes…they really do sparkle. Louis mouths “thank you” over Luke’s shoulder, and keeps Harry’s gaze, hoping he can express just how so. Harry nods and mouths back. _You’re welcome._

When Luke wriggles free again and returns to playing with the train controls, completely unfazed by the morning’s events, Harry joins them and crouches down to look into the train.

“Hiya Luke!” He waves, and Luke waves back excitedly, “Say, if you really like trains, why don’t I give you a special backstage tour tomorrow after Song of the Week? We’ve got loads more cool trains back here, and we can get some pictures with them and the whole Hi-5 gang if you’d like!”

Luke looks like Christmas has come early. And Louis beams, but also feels vaguely…guilty.

“Thanks but you really don’t have t-“

“Yes we _do_!” Luke cuts him off. And Harry just beams.

“Splendid!” He says, not removing his eyes from Louis. His expression confirms that Louis has lost this battle,

“So tomorrow Luke,” Luke actually offers him his undivided attention, “After the show, I want you to wait for your dad right next to the stage, and I’ll come and find you. And then we’ll go check out all that really cool stuff, yeah?” Luke agrees and Louis is just a tad jealous that Harry’s got his son eating out of his hand. (As well as him). How can one guy be _so_ charming?

 It’s only then Louis realises Harry’s waiting for him to agree too, gazing up at him from where he bends, eye level with Louis’ crotch. A similar, more inappropriate image flashes through his mind.

“Alright then, brilliant.” And Louis twists himself and Luke out the opposite side of the train, much to Luke’s protests, and shakes Harry’s hand again. “We’ll see you tomorrow then, Harry!”

\--

Luke doesn’t shut up about Harry the rest of the day. Louis doesn’t mind.

\--

The next morning, they arrive thirty minutes early. And Louis’ quiff is on point.

Luke actually hugs him goodbye, and allows a kiss without protest. Louis doesn’t even protest at _Usher,_ who has returned with an even more condescending smiletoday.Even Liam’s absence, (Nic’s better again, although Louis doesn’t wish to sit too close to her) doesn’t faze him. And sure enough, when Louis finally gets back into Studio A, Luke’s sitting patiently next to the stage, wearing reindeer antlers. Louis laughs and flicks at the antlers to make them jingle. Luke proceeds to keep shaking his head until Louis takes the antlers off him.

Harry appears from the wings no too long after. He looks especially pretty today. No longer in the sky blue Lycra bodysuit Louis had seen him sporting earlier (partly to his dismay), but in a loose white T-shirt, another pair of skin-tight jeans and a forest green beanie, his rockstar curls creeping out from underneath.

He can rock the beanie. Louis tries not to be too impressed. 

And Harry makes good on his promise. They embark on an abridged version of yesterday’s frantic tour, they stop and play on and with every single prop available. Harry actually sings a couple of times, and Louis tries to hide his delight by preoccupying himself with jingling Luke’s antlers in time with him. He catches Harry grinning at him. And eventually, they end up in Harry’s dressing room, take photos with the rest of the Hi-5ers, and Louis discovers that there _is_ actually alcohol onsite.

So it’s here, relaxing on the old couch in Harry’s dressing room, his odd socks resting up on the coffee table beside Harry’s calves (because his legs are actually that long and inhumanly skinny), it occurs to Louis that Harry doesn’t just _look_ like a hybrid of a rock star and superhero, he is one. Well, sort of. When he’s not winning the hearts of children and parents alike, he plays the guitar and pens some of his own songs in his spare time, and he likes to adopt kittens from the animal rescue shelter.

And Louis finds it so ridiculous that someone so pretty and talented can also be such an adorable sap. Maybe it’s the beer, maybe the Christmas spirit, but Louis tells him so anyway. And Harry laughs. Louis swears that it’s the prettiest sound that could ever come from that mouth.

(Well.)

Apparently Harry also likes to bake gingerbread, his favourite movie is _Love Actually_ , and he has a mum and sister who have put up with three new pet kittens since he adopted his first (named Sir Ian McKellen). Truth be told, he’s fucking perfect, until they’re in the middle of comparing Christmas carols when he says,

“Call me a scrooge, but I can’t stand that Mariah song.”

Louis nearly has a heart attack. And he thinks it shows, his eyes must bug out a little or he pales or flushes or chokes on his beer or _something_. Because Harry’s eyes immediately widen, like he’s worried he’s offended Louis and continues,

“Oh no, I can appreciate the song! But don’t you think that when you listen to the lyrics…I mean…they’re all about _wanting_ someone. They don’t want gifts or songs or the holiday…they just want them. That one person. ‘ _I just want_ you _for my own.’”_

And he glances at Louis, and Louis tries not to read too much into the way he swears Harry’s eyes dart to his lips before looking away again, “To me, the chirpy bells, the upbeat drums…they make it all seem so shallow. The song loses the wanting and the meaning.”

Louis watches him pick at the flaking leather of the couch and wonders how much he’s thought about that song.

“But it’s the _centrepiece_ of _Love Actually._ ” He urges, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder, “The climax!”

Harry’s eyes meet his again so he adds, “Who doesn’t love a good climax?”

And at that, Curly, Children’s Entertainer Harry Styles actually _sniggers._ He glances over his shoulder to Luke, who’s oblivious. Louis feels victorious for some reason. He continues,

“No, I disagree. _Everyone_ loves _All I Want For Christmas._ You just haven’t found the right one yet, Harry.”

Louis takes another swig at his beer and shuffles down further into the crease of the couch. He’s seated in a V with Harry, their legs on the coffee table the point, and Louis realises that his feet have, _yes,_ become intertwined with Harry Styles’ supermodel-slash-rock star legs. He gazes at them. Harry’s certainly very touchy, as his inability to let go of Louis yesterday was any indication. Not that Louis really minded, of course, but he had first chalked that up to trying to keep him from positively imploding searching for Luke. But today, today is different, he thinks. So his brain decides that it’s a good idea to rub his toes against Harry’s legs.

He stops himself quickly enough, because he’s being fucking ridiculous and this is Curly Harry and Luke is less than a metre away.

But Harry notices anyway. He gazes down at Louis, his head resting against a hand as his elbow sits perched atop the back of the couch. Louis swallows. Harry Styles may or may not have bedroom eyes turned on him right now. The next sentence about his utter hatred for _Little Drummer Boy_ dries up on his tongue as he feels Harry’s eyeline flicker to his lips, then back to his eyes.

And he’d never noticed on the TV, all those hours spent with Luke sitting practically pressed against the glass, just how fucking green they were.

Naturally, it’s _then_ that Luke chooses to appear and climb into his dad’s lap and ask in that innocent, cherubic voice that only a clueless six year old can manage,

“Can Harry come home with us?”

It takes all of Louis’ self-control to stop himself from flinging Luke from his lap. He thinks he hears Harry chuckle. But instead, he sticks frozen to the couch, feet still tangled somewhere between Harry’s legs, and Luke moves his head to block all of Louis’ view of Harry. He’s simpering, Louis can tell.

“To put up the decorations! You promisedwe could do it this weekend!” Fuck. He had.

Louis adjusts himself on the couch, sitting up a little straighter so he feels slightly more in a state to deal with this.

“I-I-that’s very nice Luke, but I think Harry will be too busy putting up his own decorations.” He says, and his heart tugs just a little seeing Luke’s bright eyes start to fall.

“No I’m not.” Harry says nonchalantly, and Luke nearly winds Louis with his elbow as he spins around to look at Harry, “I’d love to! I put mine up last weekend, I guess I got a little excited.”

Luke looks back to Louis. His face could power an entire village. Harry’s watching him, “How about tomorrow?” He offers.

Tomorrow. Saturday. The weekend. A free weekend.

Luke answers for him.

\--

Harry arrives a little after two with a bag of gingerbread and his guitar.

He’s got his beanie on again. Today, a few of his curls poke out from the sides and back to frame his face. He’s wearing a purple knitted jumper under his open coat, and a bloody gold locket necklace swings around his neck. Louis resists the urge to drag him inside by it. No sooner than a ‘hello’ is said, Harry sweeps a long arm around Louis into a hug. Louis laughs and inhales the faint scent of gingerbread of his jumper and laces his hands around Harry’s torso as the guitar swings around the two of them and nearly impales Louis in the side.

“Shit, sorry.” Harry says, offering him the bag of gingerbread as he puts down the instrument. Louis studies the biscuits through the plastic. Each of the gingerbread are individually decorated, some with coloured shirts and long hair, one with a guitar too. He imagines Harry painstakingly icing them this morning, taking care to make sure each is completely unique and loved. He nudges the door closed,

“And here I was expecting a kitten.” There’s a sound of a chair scraping along the wooden floor and the stamp of feet that only could forewarn a child. Harry actually winks,

“Next time.” And Luke flies through the doorway to tackle their guest.  

Last night, Louis made a playlist of every rendition of _All I Want For Christmas is You_ he could find, and insists on playing it while they work. He’ll be damned if Harry leaves his house without a proper appreciation for the finest Christmas song of the last century. (He had said so in a long phone call to Liam the previous evening, after admonishing him for missing the filming. He could hear Liam rolling his eyes.)

But Harry doesn’t complain.

There’s a couple of boxes of decorations. Some are broken from to a memorable rampage by a three year old, and there’s the standard mess of £1 ornaments and shedding tinsel and paper chains Luke made at school. Louis turns on the music and Luke jumps in to show Harry the ropes, bossing them both on how they do Christmas at the Tomlinson household. Louis supresses a laugh but Harry sits down obligingly on the family room floor as directed. His endless legs stretch out on either side of Luke as he pulls out all the decorations and hands them to Harry.

“There is a couch available.” Louis reminds him. Harry shakes his head. He’s perfectly happy here, he says.

When Louis comes back with tea, all the decorations are out and Harry is handing baubles and snowmen and the occasional football ornament Luke as he decorates the tree. The gingerbread is opened the moment Luke spies it, and now crumbs litter the floor between leftover ornaments. Louis manages to sit down on for all of two minutes before Luke orders him to help. He sticks out his bottom lip the same way his mother did.

And there’s a few times, after putting an ornament on the other side of the tree, or after making a grab for another gingerbread man, Louis thinks he catches Harry watching him. But then Luke will appear and he can’t be sure. But he can’t rid of his smile the whole afternoon. At one point, the kid complains he can’t wait until the end to put the star on top of their half-finished tree, so Harry simply lifts him up five feet into the air to do so.

Soon, it’s nearing 5pm and Louis hasn’t even thought about dinner. He considers takeaway, but that’s a bit of a copout. So he proposes a humble pasta dish, as admittedly, his repertoire is rather small. But Harry smiles in a way that you’d think pasta was his favourite food in the whole world, and offers to keep an eye on Luke while he cooks. And he does. 

They’re on the twenty-eighth rendition of _All I Want For Christmas is You_ , a crooning and rather solemn interpretation, Louis thinks, when he checks on them. They’re both seated on the floor in front of the completed tree. Harry is singing one of his Hi-5 songs, holding the chords of his guitar while Luke flicks at the strings for him. His beanie is off now, his long hair nearly falls over his shoulders as he crouches over. The muscles of his neck stretch to turn his head away from Louis at Luke, whose eyes widen every time a different sound comes out of the instrument when Harry moves a finger. He looks enchanted.

Louis keeps watching them from the kitchen doorway, his mug of tea warming his hands, and briefly allows his mind to wander. He imagines coming home from work to this. A partner and a son playing together in the family room, Christmas paraphernalia strewn across the floor, a simple family meal simmering on the stove. Maybe they’d sing together before they’d bicker over who should clean up. Maybe Harry would teach him guitar.

Harry must his presence. He looks over his shoulder and waves, a toothy grin splits across his face. It sends butterflies fluttering in Louis’ stomach. He wonders if Harry is thinking about the same thing.

No, Louis needs to get rid of these thoughts.

“D’you play?” Harry asks, and Louis snaps back to attention, following the tilt of Harry’s head to their old piano on the opposite wall. He shrugs,

“Not in a while. Had the idea to turn Luke here into a proper pianist and woo all the boys and girls, but I uh-“

“Show us.” Harry says simply. Louis hesitates. He hasn’t played in years. But it’s kinda like riding a bike, isn’t it? He rests his mug on the top of the piano and carefully lifts the cover, fearing he might break it off (the poor old thing). It creaks, but doesn’t give. His fingers dust over the keys, a sense of familiarity returning. What to play?

His fingers find their places, and the first few bars come naturally. Harry gives a low whistle.

“I would _definitely_ listen to you singing Mariah.” It sends a smile straight to Louis’ face and he considers that a success. Then, he feels a pair of hands grabbing onto him as Luke hauls himself up on to the piano stool next to him.

“I wanna play!” he mewls, and he starts to jab at a few keys at random. Louis plays out a simple bar for him, and Luke follows, his little fingers not _quite_ able to hit the keys as Louis’ had, but he learns quickly. Maybe there was a musician in his son after all.

The kitchen timer dings and he sends Luke off to wash his hands for dinner. Luke doesn’t need to be told twice, dragging Harry out of the room by hand with him.

Louis watches after them and tries to put the fantastical images in his mind to rest.

\--

After dinner, Harry insists on cleaning up. Normally Louis would have just left the plates for later and joined Luke in watching some Christmas special on TV. But Harry _insists_ , and then suggests Louis go with Luke and he’ll clean up anyway. That put the subject to rest for good.

And that is how Harry ends up helping Louis clean up an entire week’s worth of dishes.

With the TV and Louis’ playlist in the background, and finally some time to themselves, Louis gets around to asking after his plans for Christmas.

Harry’s going back to his mum’s in Holmes Chapel after filming finishes. Apparently, it’s become tradition for them to watch the Hi-5 special together when it airs Christmas night. His sister – Gemma, her name is – loves to mock his outfits each year. Louis suspects he’d get along with her just fine.

As the stack of dishes decreases, with Louis on washing and Harry on drying, Christmas talk evolves into family talk, and then children talk (Harry himself wants three or more, apparently), and then the inevitable comes.

“What about Luke’s mum?” Louis pauses in scrubbing a moment at the thought of her. He feels the skin of his fingers wrinkling in the hot water. But Harry just as quickly apologises, “Sorry, that’s far too personal. Forget it, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Louis shakes his head.

“She walked out nearly four years ago now. Last I heard, she was in New York.” He sees Harry’s face fall.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Louis shrugs and resumes his scrubbing at the tomato sauce caked onto the plate from his lunch.

“’S okay. I don’t think the husband and kids thing was really a plan of hers. Ambitious one, she is. Career-driven.” He hands the plate to Harry and looks him in the eye, “And I guess I made it easier for her, coming out to her about a month before she went.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment. He takes the plate and leans against the bench while he dries, his hip barely an inch from Louis’ elbow. The chatter of Luke’s show and Louis’ playlist mingle outside, but the kitchen is silent. Harry hasn’t broken his gaze from Louis.

“Must’ve been rough for you.” Louis thinks back to the old flat, his first few weeks a single parent, the lead up to Christmas no less, terrified out of his mind at the prospect of raising Luke alone.

“Well I did have support. Me mum, and friends.” He swallows. He’d stopped blaming Luke’s mum a long time ago. It was the aftermath that had hurt him more. Harry glances through the door to the family room, where Luke pokes curiously at his guitar case again.

“You’re doing a great job, Lou. Luke’s a wonderful kid.”

It wasn’t always wonderful. There were rough patches, of course. But they managed to stumble through together.

“Yeah he is, inn’it he? Just don’t let _him_ hear you say that.” And he laughs, trying to dispel the odd sense of tension that’s stirred up in the room. Harry stops him by placing a hand along his wrist. His long fingers wrap around it and graze Louis’ knuckles. Louis isn’t sure if it’s the warm soapy water or if Harry’s touch is actually fire. So he stares up at him. Harry’s expression is firm, but his eyes shine. Was it…pride?

There was something else there, too. Louis recognises it instantly.

“I mean it, Lou. You’re wonderful.”

Louis’ eyes search Harry’s face. His close-lipped smile, deepening between dimpled cheeks. Sparkling eyes peeking out under waves of curls. Louis is reminded of how Harry’s face lit up at the sight of Luke, that first day of filming. How he took Louis’ hand and never let go. Not really. His silent “ _You’re welcome.”_ And today, appearing at Louis’ doorstep with gingerbread. Allowing Luke to boss him around. The knowing looks they shared over Luke’s head.

Harry’s fingers rub over the pulse point in Louis’ wrist. And if Louis had never wanted to kiss the fuck out of him before, he sure as hell wants to now.

“DAD CAN ME AND HARRY WATCH ALVIN?”

Louis curses his child to a life of celibacy and slow internet. He whips around to the kitchen doorway with his heart in his throat, wondering how much Luke saw, only to find Luke is still safely in the family room, distracted by the TV. He returns to Harry, who hasn’t yet moved his hand, but the intensity of his expression has been replaced by mirth. The moment’s gone. Louis returns to his washing up awkwardly and Harry’s hand draws away.

“ _Alvin and the Chipmunks._ It’s his favourite Christmas movie.” Louis remarks, “Though I’ll understand if you want to save yourself from it and go.”

Harry stares at him with a bewildered expression, tea towel hovering over the dripping plate.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

\--

Sunday might just be the longest day of Louis’ life. He may or may not coerce his child into re-watching Hi-5 specials on DVD with him for most of the day. Inwardly, he’s grateful that Luke’s still into the show after all this time, because he’ll be damned if he can get Harry Styles’ eyes and legs and lips out of his head.

It doesn’t help that Harry texts him that morning, thanking him for the best Christmas decorating and dinner he’s ever had.

Monday finally arrives, and they’re back at the studio.

Liam still hasn’t reappeared, and Louis only feels slightly abandoned. He makes a mental note to take Liam out for Christmas drinks soon. And having hoped he’d be there today so Louis could recount the entirety of Saturday to him, he instead spends his wait in the cafeteria typing out an extra-long text, promising to divulge further details the next time they caught up. He receives three smiley faces and a winky face in return.

He receives a text from Harry inviting them backstage again, and Louis doesn’t bother trying to stop his grin. Nic studies him with a knowing look on her face, then is distracted by a sneezing fit.

Harry shows Luke the drum set this time, and Louis thinks Luke might have just found his first love, nearly putting a hole through the tomin his eagerness. So while Luke plays under the watchful eye of Niall (Louis is pleased to finally put a face to the legend), Harry slides up next to him and hugs him hello. Louis wonders if he really lives in a gingerbread house. He still smells faintly of gingerbread intermixed with hairspray. It’s rather nice, actually.

They chat. Harry’s narrowed down the list down to a few versions of _All I Want for Christmas Is You_ he may be able to learn to like. Louis says “I told you so” in the smuggest voice he can manage. And Harry laughs, and says,

“Well, why don’t we decide for sure over dinner? Tomorrow night? Or, whenever you can get a babysitter.”

Harry suggests this as easily and as casually as he would asking Louis how his day was, but Louis’ heart stops as he processes the offer. Harry is suggesting dinner. Harry is suggesting dinner with him alone. Harry Styles. Adult dinner. With no children’s menus or tomato sauce stains down Louis’ shirt. Harry is suggesting a dinner _date._

But Louis…Louis doesn’t date. He can’t date.

He can’t.

“No.”

The word comes out of Louis’ mouth faster than it flashes through his head. And watching the way Harry’s eyes widen and then cast downward, he realises that that came out harsher than he’d intended.

“I mean, sorry, no….I don’t really have a babysitter on call. So…tomorrow doesn’t work for me. Or this week at all really. And then it’s Christmas…” Harry still doesn’t look at him. He plays with the rings on his fingers. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Louis opens his mouth and closes it again dumbly. The bundle of nerves sitting low in his stomach tightens as he watches Harry’s eyebrows furrow,

“Shit, Harry I….I mean, um, I’m not really looking for a…because…Luke…I’m so sorry.” And Louis pushes himself away from the wall, feeling pinpricks of tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He swallows and it feels like sandpaper against his throat. He chokes a little.

“I’m sorry Harry, I’m so sorry. Luke, we have to go. Now.”

He doesn’t wait for Harry to respond, and he shushes Luke’s protests as he carries him out of the studio. He doesn’t let the tears fall.

He doesn’t.

\--

Louis ignores Harry’s texts.

They all start with some variant of “are you okay?” or “I’m sorry if…” or a sad face. Louis hates himself a little more every time another text arrives. They eventually stop.

The problem is that Harry isn’t the problem. He could never be the problem. But a “it’s not you it’s me” text is stupid, and Louis isn’t stupid. Not about this, at least. So he ignores Harry and he ignores something that feels like heartburn and continues to draw with Luke.

He has Liam coming to take Luke to the studio with Charlie today. But Luke isn’t taking too kindly to hearing that it’ll be just the filming and home again with Charlie today.

“No! We’re playing with Harry today!” He insists in his petulant six year old voice as he colours in his character’s guitar. Louis bites his lip and presses his marker down a little harder into the paper.

“No, sorry Luke, he might be busy today.”

“Course he isn’t!” Said like a true six year old, “He always has time for us.” Luke bounds off his seat and races to put his drawing with the others in his room. “He said so.” He says as an afterthought, barely audible from the other room.

But Louis hears it, and his heart aches just a little more.

“He said that, did he?” He asks quietly, when Luke returns. His son nods, his shaggy matted brown hair falling over his eyes with the movement, since he won’t let Louis comb it or take him to the hairdresser. Especially not after Harry.

He pushes a Hot Wheels car into Louis’ hand.

“Oh, this one’s mine is it?” Louis says absentmindedly, his head still lost in the memory of Harry’s hands on his skin.

Luke doesn’t let up, and reluctantly, Louis sends Liam another text retracting the first and goes to the studio. He spends the entire tube ride praying he doesn’t run into Harry. For once, things go his way.

At 9am, he staggers into the cafeteria to find Liam with a paper coffee cup in each hand, waiting for him. He’s a good man, this one. Louis might actually love him today. Liam’s eyebrows are furrowed.

“Louis, are you okay?”

“Peachy, thanks Li.” He grabs the tea offered in Liam’s outstretched hand and takes a sip. The boiling water burns his tongue and throat, but it’s somewhat enjoyable in his current state. Liam’s eyes don’t leave him.

“Only after your texts yesterday, I wondered…”

“Nah, felt a bit sick but an aspirin and a sleep sorted it. Thanks, though.” Liam drops the subject, but Louis still feels a worried aura about. Liam is truly one of the school mums. They drink their tea together, interspersed with commentary on the other lonely souls of the cafeteria and plans for Christmas and the like.

“Forgot to ask though, where’d you end up finding Luke on Thursday?”

Thursday. The first day of the filming. Had that really happened only a few days ago?

“He’d gone into the props room. Hid inside a train.” Harry’s beam at the sight of Luke flashes through his mind. He shakes his head to rid of the memory.

“Harry’s a good lad, helping you out like that.” Louis swallows at the name.

“Yeah, he’s pretty amazing. Took us backstage and round the studio after. And Luke had taken a pretty big fancy to him. I’ll have to warn him when he’s older though, not all his idols will be so perfect.” He finishes the rest of his tea. It doesn’t hurt so much now. Harry Styles, sunshine on stage and off. How lucky they were that he was their favourite.

Liam’s still studying him worriedly. Fuck it.

“He asked me out.” Louis says this in a volume just above a whisper, less to prevent the others on their table hearing than to admit to the rest of the turn of events. Liam, bless him, doesn’t flinch.

“Really? What’d you say?” He asks this in the same tone he’d ask after the weather in.   

“I-er-” Louis tried to forget. He remembers. He remembers stumbling over his words, trying to articulate _no_ in the firmest, yet kindest manner. Trying to say without words that no matter how many butterflies he gets or how goddamn pretty and perfect Harry is, or just how much he wants to snog him senseless straddling him on a couch while Mariah plays on in the background, it’s just not going to work out. It _can’t_ happen. So it won’t.

“I kinda flat out said no. And ran.”

Liam’s brow furrows more.

“Why?”

The word irritates Louis. He tears at his paper cup.

“ _Because_ …you-you _know_ why.” He can hear himself getting defensive and he doesn’t care. It might feel like a lifetime ago, but the memory of Aiden still hurts. Louis remembers himself, so young and naïve and newly single and newly liberated and scared out of his mind. He needed an escape. And an escape came in the first wonderful man to enter his life, an exceedingly fit thirty-three year old stockbroker with good hair and a winning smile who told him he loved children.

It had taken Louis all of eight months to realise Aiden had meant he loved the _idea_ of children. By then, Luke was far gone too.

He’d been selfish then. It was a much-needed wake-up call. No matter how gorgeous or endearing or lovely and wonderful Harry is, Louis will not take the chance with Luke’s heart again. Luke comes first. He always has to.

“You wouldn’t understand Liam, you don’t have kids. Last time, Aiden…sure, it was _great_ while it lasted. But it didn’tlast. And that’s the point. One day, Aiden was cooking dinner for the three of us, and the next all of his stuff was gone.He never called. Not even to say goodbye to Luke. Didn’t care to ease him off. He just disappeared. And Luke…fuck…Luke was torn. He really liked him. It took him _months_ to stop asking for Aiden. Even for his birthday party, when I asked who he wanted to invite, he said _him_. Luke…Luke was so fucked up by it. Because of _me_. Because I was selfish and didn’t think that it might not last, didn’t think to how he’d be affected by it.”

Louis throws the remnants of his cup on the floor.

“I won’t let him keep losing father figures like I did, Liam! I won’t! I’m not putting Luke through that! Not again.”

His voice breaks. He lets out a sob,

“Not again.”

Liam is quiet. He’s quiet for a long time, his elbows leaning on his thighs and staring down at the concrete floor of the cafeteria, turning the cup in his hands. Louis heaves three deep breaths and forces the tears to stop.

“Did you tell Harry any of this?” Liam asks.

The answer was no. They both knew so.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because he’d understand, I think. He’s a good guy, Louis. I know you can see that. He cares about Luke, and I know you can see that too. He’s not like Aiden was. Not one bit. He’s not gonna disappear on you.”

Louis chews at his lip. Harry’s cherubic face floats through his mind. He sighs.

“You don’t know that.” And Liam turns his head to look him in the eye. He looks as serious as Louis has ever seen him.

“Neither do you. But give him a chance, or at least an explanation.”

\--

They sneak into Studio A together. It isn’t difficult, since the security guard recognises them from the first day, and practically leads them in when Louis hints he thinks Luke might run off again. So it’s not _exactly_ sneaking in, but it’s still a little fun.

The Hi-5ers are in the middle of a song about sharing Christmas with people you love. And Harry is centre stage. He’s dressed in relatively casual wear, topped with a headband with a big red bow on the side. On his line, he sings and spins on his toes with the grace of a highly-uncoordinated ballerina. The kids follow him, and he cheers in encouragement as someone else sings. And Louis is sure that he’s even more gorgeous when he’s onstage, under the lights and wearing the biggest grin he can manage, making children laugh at his antics. He’s literally _glowing._

And he knows he saw the same thing when he watched Harry teach Luke guitar. And when he lifted him to put the star on top of the tree. And when he gave Louis gingerbread. And when he held Louis’ hand and felt his pulse while he washed the dishes, of all things.

Maybe Liam was right. Someone that cheery and smiley and good wouldn’t disappear. And Louis knew where to find him even if he did.

The song ends and another Hi-5er wishes the audience and the camera a Merry Christmas. Louis watches Harry look out into the audience and spot him. Louis gives a small wave. He watches Harry’s smile falter for the briefest of moments, and then widen again. He feels his heart set alight. There’s a cheer from the kids and a call of _that’s a wrap_ and Louis walks straight across to Harry, who is giving out hi-fives to the front row.

Luke grabs onto his leg somewhere along the way. At least some good has come of this, whatever it is.

Harry offers a hug and Louis doesn’t say no.

“Can I talk to you?” he whispers into Harry’s ear as he wraps his around about his neck. Harry nods a yes.

\--

They’re back in Harry’s dressing room. Liam has taken Luke. They’re on the couch again, legs stretched out onto the coffee table together, shoulder pressed to shoulder. Louis tells him everything. He apologises. He rubs his hands over his face so many times he thinks the skin has gone blotchy and red. And again, Harry listens to him. He doesn’t say a word, not until Louis is done with a final grimace to his selfishness and alike and apologises for quite possibly the hundredth time.

 “I’m sorry.” He says and Louis stares at him.

“Why are you sorry? It’s got nothing to do with you.” And Harry gazes down at him, slightly aghast.

“Of course it does, Lou! I should have known! It was too forward of me, both on Saturday, and again, asking you yesterday. Of course you’ve got to think of Luke. And I understand, and I still want to be there for you. As a friend.”

It’s then that it occurs to Louis that gingerbread-baking, kitten-adopting, guitar-playing Harry Styles may just be too damn perfect for him.

“That’s a shame then.” Louis places a hand on Harry’s thigh, which _definitely_ gets his attention, “Because I was hoping to take you up on dinner.” He smirks as Harry’s eyes bug out a little bit, before he composes himself again,

“Really?” He asks, covering and utterly dwarfing Louis’ hand with his own, then linking them together.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a proper adult dinner, with proper adult drinking, and proper adult conversation?”

Harry’s eyes lock onto Louis’ again, and he brings their joined hands to his lips.

“How long?” He presses a kiss to Louis’ knuckles. Louis stares at him, studying the dimple that Harry can’t hide as he smiles, looking positively angelic with his headband and bow. A single curl sneaks out from behind it. Louis untangles their fingers to tuck in.

“Too fucking long.” And he leans into Harry, practically climbing on top of him so his lips to reach Harry’s. Evidently, Harry doesn’t mind, and leans back to help him as their lips meet. They are just as soft and sinful as Louis had imagined. Harry’s hands pull gently at his neck, urging him closer.

“Also….I was thinking…” He mumbles, in between kisses.

“Yeah?” Louis asks half-heartedly, busying himself with pulling himself up to straddle Harry without kneeing him in the ribs,

“I think I found a way to love that Mariah song.” _That_ grabs Louis’ attention. He actually pulls back a moment, long enough for Harry to support himself on his elbows and sit up slightly. His lips are sucked red and he seems slightly dazed, but he grins.

“How?”

“Well, I used to think I’d never _need_ to find a cover that I liked - that sung it the way I wanted -  because I thought I’d never find a cover that meant it how _I_ meant it. Or someone I wanted to express that to. But then I met you and Luke.”

Harry shuffles up a bit more, earnestly trying to keep Louis on top of him as he does, and dangles him arm over the edge of the couch. When he brings it back, his guitar comes with it.

And Louis has a sneaking suspicion of where this is going.

“So I thought “why not”?” Harry laughs, as Louis disentangles himself from him to let the guitar in. Harry’s fingers find the chords easily.

“So here it is, Louis. For you and Luke, _All I Want For Christmas is You._ ”

 

 


End file.
